


The Specter Spectator Named Derek

by ColetheWolf



Series: Smutty Drabbles [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Ghost Sex, Ghost!Derek, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: Stiles is taking a nap and gets woken up to a blowjob from a stubbled ghost.





	The Specter Spectator Named Derek

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble. I write them from time-to-time and post them @ halesparked.tumblr.com

As somebody who was about to graduate from high-school in a mere couple months and then proceed to dive head first into the world of real-life eighteen year old responsibility, Stiles wasn’t about to waste what little time he had left to pass the fuck out on his living room couch for much needed after-school naps.

It was something of a ritual. 

Whilst some of his fellow friends like to unwind from a day in back-to-back classes by getting buzzed or stoned, Stiles liked to consider himself to be something of a simple man. He favored a nice nap, some junk food, and the occasional jerk-off session. It was just the best way to relax.

Plus, Stiles usually had the house completely to himself from the time when he got out of school until the late evening when his father eventually came home from working at the city’s sheriff station. And there was something oddly arousing about being able to jerk off wherever and be as loud as possible without having to worry about getting caught. 

Stiles was splayed out completely on the couch, propped up slightly with a couple decorative pillows and with one of his own arms tucked peacefully behind his head. The surrounding world was silent—all except for the sound of the air conditioner that had kicked on to help keep the house protected from the warm spring weather outside. All the while, brief dreams flickered like film reels on the backs of Stiles’ eyelids. 

But then something happened. Stiles was roused out of his slumber by the feeling of something gently tugging at the fabric of his corduroy trousers and at the hem of his t-shirt. It felt like there was some kind of invisible force pulling at his clothes, ever-so-slightly. But it stopped the moment that Stiles pulled himself back from unconsciousness. 

As Stiles’ eyes opened and his vision steadied, he looked around the living room with curiosity. He smacked his lips, swallowing down the taste of sleep. There was nobody else in the living room. And it was only around five o’clock, so his father wouldn’t even be home for another three hours. Nobody was messing with him. 

Sleepily, Stiles grabbed hold of the hem of his shirt and fluttered it around, making sure that he hadn’t actually been awakened by any bug of any kind crawling over him. When his clothes had been thoroughly pat down and flapped around to determined that he wasn’t being invaded by insects, Stiles summed up the odd feeling to the air conditioner’s air blowing on him at an odd angle, before slipping back into the coziness of his nap. 

But it wasn’t long before Stiles was pulled out of his sleep again for the same reason. This time, as his eyes opened, he watched as his pants were unbuttoned and unzipped—almost like magic. As if somebody was invisible, using their fingers to cleverly get him out of his pants. He could see it happening in real time. And this time, it didn’t stop.

Somewhat unsure as to whether or not he was dreaming, Stiles reached out with one of his hands to push back against what he perceived to be some kind of invisible person, only to feel nothing tangible. There was nothing there….nothing but the still air of his house….but he wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t dreaming, and he certainly wasn’t imagining what was unfolding before his very eyes. 

“What—the fuck?” Stiles breathed confusedly.

Stiles watched in bewilderment as something took hold at either side of the waistline of his trousers and boxers. The fabric became visibly scrunched up in the strength of some invisible entity’s fists. Stiles rubbed at his own eyes in disbelief as his trousers and boxers were simultaneously tugged downward—past the sharpness of his hipbone. 

He even found himself subconsciously allowing it to happen, even going as far as to cant his hips upward just enough to allow for the ghost-like existence to successfully pull his pants past the curve of his plump ass. He didn’t know what the hell was happening or even how it was happening. And he didn’t know if he was supposed to be weirded out, or impressed, or excited, or outright shitting himself in fear. 

The force then seemed to stop in awe for a mere moment to take in the sight of where Stiles was exposed to the seemingly emptiness of his living room. Was that it? Was it over? Was the ghost just trying to sneak a peak? Or was it going to go further and do something even more ridiculously outrageous and downright unbelievable. 

Stiles’ cock rested innocently flipped up against his abdomen, shamelessly twitching up to full hardness in a matter of seconds. The embarrassment smeared a reddened blush against the cheeks of Stiles’ face. It was like a new fire had lit itself deep inside of Stiles’ body. A discovery of a new kink, perhaps? His eyes were telling him that nobody was around to see him, but his mind knew that somebody was there—watching….enjoying….waiting?

It turned Stiles on. 

He still didn’t technically know what the fuck was happening. And inside of his mind, Stiles was still somewhat sold on the idea that it was all just a very realistic dream that he’d wake up from soon enough. And yet, Stiles found himself almost instinctively wrapping one of his fists around his throbbing cock—setting a generous rhythm of stimulation for himself and for whoever or whatever was probably still watching him. 

Stiles didn’t know where the ghost was or even if the ghost was still with him, so he kept his own gaze fixated on where he was hard and leaking pre-cum. He melted right into his own masturbation routine, keeping the pace relentlessly fast and desperate to orgasm. He kept his grip firm and unforgiving, occasionally twisting his wrist and using his spare hand to reach down to fondle his balls. 

Suddenly, Stiles felt a dominating grip clasp itself around his wrist—stopping him from continuing to jerk off. The force tossed away Stiles’ hand, as if to tell him ‘you’re doing it wrong’. And then, Stiles watched as the force gripped onto the hem of his shirt and pushed it up over his stomach, so that his entire torso was practically on display alongside his bare rock-hard cock. 

Again, Stiles felt lost without direction and instruction. And if he wasn’t supposed to jerk off anymore, what the hell was he supposed to do? But then Stiles felt the unmistakable feeling of a warm hand grip itself around the girth of his twitching cock, resting for a moment, before beginning to move up and down with a tantalizingly slow speed. 

Stiles watched in utter amazement as his cock stood straight up in the air, wobbled, and moved—seemingly by itself. Yet, it was obviously in the capable hand of somebody else. Stiles watched the head of his cock grow redder when the ghostly grip would momentarily stop and tighten its grip before resuming motion. He even watched a thick stream of his pre-cum flow down and over the invisible shape of another person’s knuckles, before it splattered down against his own naked abdomen. 

And then….Stiles felt warmth and wetness all over where he was hard. He felt the softness of a talented tongue lap deliciously against the side of his throbbing length and up over the leaking slit of his cockhead. He could feel a faint heat enclose itself around much of his length, he could feel the slight dullness of teeth tug at his foreskin, and he could actually even feel the sticky wetness of saliva dripping unseen down his shaft—all whilst a bobbing motion made it that much more clear that he was getting sucked off. 

Stiles watched in awe, somewhat frustrated that he couldn’t actually reach forward and slip his fingers into somebody’s hair. Eventually, the blowjob got sloppier and sloppier, and Stiles started to hear the unmistakable sound of a wet mouth popping on and off of where his cock was speared upright towards the ceiling. And as the ghostly mouth took him deeper, he actually felt the prickle of thick stubble rub against his pelvis and hip bones. 

So….it was a dude ghost sucking him off? Hot. Stiles was fine either way. There wasn’t much to complain about and as a proud bisexual, getting sucked off by a dude or a girl was a top notch kind of erotic experience. But the beard….that was something. It sent shivers down Stiles’ spine and made the hair on his arm stand up. Just that little extra stimulation made the whole blowjob feel that much more great. 

“Dude….ghost….ghost-dude, you’re gonna get a mouthful of cum if you don’t ease up.” Stiles slurred. “Unless you're ready for it. I’m ready to give. Just give me some kind of sign if you’re ready.”

Right as Stiles finished his sentence, he felt two fingers prod directly into his asshole—pushing deep inside, seemingly already slicked up with some kind of lube. They pressed directly against his prostate. Needless to say, that was most definitely some kind of sign. And it was a sign that was powerful enough to push Stiles over the edge. 

Stiles cried out—overwhelmed with stimulation and sensation. He slammed his eyes shut and tossed his head back in pleasure as he rode out his orgasm by refusing to halt his rhythmic thrusts up into the unseen mouth. Though, he could feel the warmth of a tongue lap around the sensitive head of his cock and a throat constrict around his length with brave gulps. 

Without thinking, Stiles reached out to grab onto the head of whoever was swallowing his load—completely forgetting that he was still in the throat of some kind of ghost. But much to his surprise, Stiles felt his fingers slip into the sweaty strands of somebody’s hair. Actual, physical, seemingly solid. 

Stiles’ eyes shot open and he looked down to see the semi-transparent form of an utterly handsome man. Tanned skin, bright green emerald eyes, jet black hair, and a well defined stubble-covered jaw. He was probably the prettiest ghost to ever walk the Earthly plane and Stiles was beyond satisfied by the fact that the ghost dude chose to suck his cock instead of somebody else’s. 

“…who are you?” Stiles asked, stroking his solid hand along the translucent face of the ghost.

“Call me Derek.” The ghost said, pulling off of Stiles’ spent cock with a lewd pop and a sultry smirk, before fading back away into invisibility.


End file.
